


Isaiah Jesus and the Sucker Punch Heist

by Ashling



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: "Five fingers, one fist. We'll hit him when he least expects it."When a new arrival threatens a local pub, Isaiah assembles a ragtag bunch of young criminals to pull off a diamond heist and even the score. Along the way, Isaiah learns to lead, Finn falls in love, and they all piss off the most powerful man in Birmingham.





	Isaiah Jesus and the Sucker Punch Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's different about a Friday?"
> 
> "Freedom, mate! Freedom and the ability to sleep in afterwards."
> 
> Isaiah just wants to forget his troubles and have a fun night out. Instead, he makes a powerful enemy.

The sun had already set and the Garrison was bustling by the time Finn arrived. Isaiah had found a good spot at the bar. Without a word, the man to Isaiah's left looked up, nodded to Finn, and then stood up, ambling to find a place at one of the many tables. Isaiah turned.

"Finnegan! How are you?" Isaiah welcomed him with a wide, easy smile, clapped him on the shoulder, and handed him a drink.

Finn took a cursory sip. "Sorry I'm late."

"Nah, it's fine. Did Tommy finally find something interesting for you to do, or are you still sorting through paper more than _Scudboat wanks_? _"_ He tossed the last couple words up in the air.

"Fuck you," Scudboat yelled affectionately from his seat at a card game far across the room. Isaiah grinned.

"Paperwork. Still." Finn rubbed his face.

"All right, now you look like him."

"What?"

"That." Isaiah mimicked rubbing his face. "That's exactly what Tommy did when I told him Charlie asked me what 'fucking' meant."

"What did you say?"

"I said I had to go use the loo and left the maid to explain it."

That got a rare smile from Finn.

"I made it up to her after, of course." He smirked.

"Course."

"Well, you're tired," said Isaiah. "And the way you're looking at your watch, you're working on some kind of excuse. So let's get you one good drink before you go. Bobby! Two whiskeys? Thanks, mate."

"I do actually have an excuse."

"All right, let's hear it."

"I told Lizzie I'd bring her groceries."

"She still on bed rest, then?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Bobby." He accepted both drinks, and handed one to Isaiah.

"Thanks, Bobby. Look, Finn, you know I love you, but fuck if you don't need to live a little. It's a Friday and you're running after groceries like a housewife. Tell Lizzie you'll pick them up tomorrow morning and come with me to the Stag. You've never been there, you'll love it."

"We've already been there."

"Not on a Friday."

"What's different about a Friday?"

"Freedom, mate! Freedom and the ability to sleep in afterwards."

"You know I don't like going out like you do."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying."

"I don't." Finn eyed Isaiah over the top of his glass.

"What?"

"How's your dad?"

Isaiah took a big gulp. "Well, he's looking at ten years in jail, so I'd say pretty shitty. Not that I'd know, of course, because he said he'd write and he fucking didn't, did he."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't—"

Finn fumbled for the words. "We all think he's innocent."

"Of course he's fucking innocent. If this was Birmingham, we'd have him out in seconds. But it's fucking London, and the Cortesis are involved." Having finished his drink, Isaiah reached for Finn's.

Finn handed it over. "How are you, uh..."

"I can cook. I'm a man. I have it handled. Bobby, two more?"

"Just one, Bobby, I've got to drive. Isaiah, I know you can take care of yourself. But—"

"I'm not talking about it." He mustered a smile. "Not tonight, mate! It's fucking Friday."

Finn just looked at him with those quiet eyes. "I should go before the shops close."

"Sure, sure. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll call you."

"All right."

Finn left some money on the bar and headed out. Isaiah lingered for a moment over his drink, hoping vaguely that it would work out, but eventually gave up. The Garrison was full top to bottom of people who would only ask him about his father, and most other places, the Stag included, he probably still couldn't get into without some Shelby help. That left him only one option. He finished his drink and pulled on his coat.

"Isaiah!" That was Scudboat, calling again from his corner. "Come over here! We're playing for money."

"Better not, Scudboat. You couldn't afford to play me."

"I'll get you another day."

"Another day it is."

Outside, the twilight air cut crisply through his unease. The insistent smell of factory smoke, the buildings rising angular and charcoal grey against the indigo sky, the clack of a two women's heels against the pavement, the laughter that accompanied the curious looks they threw him as he passed: this was Birmingham! Not friendly, but beautiful. Not safe, but _his_. He could find his way from the Garrison to any of a dozen destinations even if he were clubbed in the head and blindfolded. It gave him the same feeling he had had a very long time ago, when his dad had just given a rousing Easter sermon, the church was packed, and the choir whipped out a classic hymn that even the kids knew by heart. He could almost feel it vibrating through him.

It took him all of twenty minutes to walk to the tiny pub. A hand-painted sign above advertised it as _The Tiger_. Inside, the faded wallpaper was lit golden by the lamps, and Isaiah was greeted with a general shout from the roughly three dozen people there. They were mostly men, some black, some Indian, a couple Chinese, none white. He grinned by way of hello, hung up his coat, and sidled up to the bar.

"Hello, Navika." She had her back to him, was carefully checking a big pot of something rich-smelling on the back counter, but he could identify her at a hundred paces just by that curtain of wavy black hair.

She took her sweet time ladling out the food (it turned out to be some kind of well-spiced stew) before finally turning to him. "Hello, Isaiah." She had a proper Brummie voice, but it lilted, too, in a small way that made her seem musical.

"You look good tonight."

"You say that every time."

"It's always true, isn't it?" he said. She turned to her customer, a tall man with arms like knotted oak, and handed him both bowls. Isaiah waited until the man had paid out and left for his table to add, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Studying." She smiled a small, sly smile.

"You say that every time."

"It's always true, isn't it?" 

"You should go out with me instead."

"Where would we go?"

"The chapel belfry."

"Why would we go?"

"Because it's the best view of the city. And you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

She lingered, as she did every time, on this particular silence, before she said, "Ask me next week, Isaiah."

"Count on it, sweetheart."

She passed him a beer in exchange for a coin, and then he was off to his favorite table in the back left corner, where he could sit and take in the whole room. Three of his mates were already there: Ajax, Trevor, and Westley. Ajax and Trevor were twins, but physically Ajax was a sturdy pear, whereas Trevor was a long green bean. They were Navika's brothers, and a year younger than Isaiah. Westley was probably older than time itself and his accent was occasionally so thick as to be unintelligible, but he had such a great, easygoing smile that they liked having him around just the same.

"When are you going to give it a fucking rest," said Ajax.

"Well, I've only tried five times," said Isaiah.

"Seven," said Trevor, without looking up from his stew.

"What, really?"

"Art gallery, Garrison, bridge, cinema, flat, symphony, and now belfry. Because: you want to know what she thinks of Millais, it's always a good time, the river is lovely by starlight, there's a musical picture on, you can cook, they're playing Bach, and it's the best view in London. 'And you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.'"

"Shit," laughed Ajax, "That's almost two months' worth of rejection."

"If we're both having fun, why stop?"

"How do you know she's having fun?"

"I asked her third time round if she wanted me to stop asking, and she just said, 'Ask me next week, Isaiah.' I do as I'm told, you know me. I'm a good boy."

"Well, I'd take you as a brother-in-law. Right, Trevor?"

"She can do better."

Ajax took Trevor's stew away. " _Yo_ _u_ couldn't do better, you absolute maniac. Who remembers every single word anyone's ever said for the last fuckoff number of years? Freak."

"I should have strangled you in the womb," said Trevor calmly.

"Fuck." Isaiah laughed.

Trevor was just reaching to get his stew back when every head in the place turned to the door. The room fell silent save for Westley, who quite audibly said, "Aw, shit," got straight up with a painful scraping of chair legs on floor, and exited out the through the kitchen.

Standing in the doorway were three white men. One looked quite standard. One, a veritable giant. It was the third, the shortest and youngest, that looked like the most trouble. In age and features, he almost resembled Michael, except that he carried more muscle, and wore a smile so overwrought and smug that it made him ugly. Michael never would stoop to such a look. Isaiah sighed. Time to take care of business. But Trevor's bony hand on his shoulder gave him pause, it gripped him so hard. When he looked over, even big Ajax, who was always ready for a fight, was sitting back in his chair, strained.

Not-Michael ambled up to the bar. "Get me a double whiskey." He sounded like a Londoner. Isaiah instantly hated him. "And get me whoever runs this rathole. Don't try to tell me he isn't here. You've pulled it twice already, and that shit is just not flying tonight, is it, boys."

"No, sir," said Standard.

Giant just grunted.

"Sir, I'm not sure this is a good time," said Navika, pouring out a generous portion.

"Really." He took it from her.

"Perhaps you could come back later?"

They stared at each other in the dead silence of the room, her twisting a rag nervously between her hands, he sipping whiskey, for what felt like ten minutes. "Not bad," he finally said, looking at his empty glass. Then he hurled it at the back wall, where it shattered in a spray of broken glass. "Next one hits you, sweetheart." Trevor's knuckles had gone white from the grip he had on Isaiah. Whether he was holding Isaiah down or holding onto Isaiah to stop himself from jumping up, Isaiah couldn't tell.

The kitchen door opened, and a short, pinch-faced woman emerged. "May I help you?"

"Mum, don't—" Navika began.

"Mum?" He laughed, his laugh just as ugly as his face. "She must get it from her father, hey?" He turned to Navika. "You're the only good-looking thing in this dump, how do you manage that?"

"Sir, may I help you?"

"I said I wanted to speak to the owner. The owner. Do you know what that is?"

"I am the owner, sir." She offered her hand. "My name is Bhairavi Thakore. May I help you?"

"My name is Drake Gabriel, but you can just call me sir." He shook her hand as he talked. "Listen, as I have been trying to tell your daughter here, I want to take this place off your hands. It's a fucking shambles, is what it is. The wallpaper, peeling. The floorboards, stained. And that smell." He wrinkled his nose at the stew. "Fucking terrible. Not that you haven't done anything right," he continued, still shaking her hand. "The whiskey is almost decent. And then there's your daughter."

Out of the corner of his eye, Isaiah could see Navika reaching for something under the counter.

"Sir, I'm afraid you are mistaken. The Tiger is not for sale."

"Everything is for sale, even if it doesn't have a price slapped on it. Especially if it's owned by someone two months behind on the rent."

Bhairavi's face drained.

He stopped shaking her hand, but still didn't let go. "Your landlord was so happy when I went to talk to him. He said he looked forward to my investment. Thought I could really help clean up the neighborhood. Nobody wants to get the lawyers involved, it's messy and expensive for all of us, so let's just make a deal. If you're reasonable, I might even let your daughter—"

She yanked her hand away, cheeks aflame. "Sir—"

His voice dropped, low and quiet. "Listen, bitch, whether you—"

 _"Right."_ Isaiah threw off Trevor's hand and shot to his feet. "Fucking _enough_ ," he thundered. "Outside." He wanted to hit this boy so much it felt less like a thought and more like a physical need, like his body was on fire.

Drake gestured at the other two to stay back. "Inside is fine."

As Isaiah stalked towards Drake, Ajax scrambled forward and grabbed Isaiah. "Wait."

The sheer surprise of it stopped him for half a second, but then he shoved Ajax away with a huff of disbelief and barreled onwards. Already the crowd was thinning around him as people slipped out the kitchen or out the front door. He didn't blame them, but the ones who stayed gave him some reassurance. They knew him. If they stayed, it meant they thought he had a chance.

He thought he had a chance. Physically, this boy was a match enough. A few inches shorter, significantly larger, but size was hardly the most important factor, unless you had it in spades, like the Giant. The boy ran his mouth, but it only made him sound like someone who had read too many dime novels. Isaiah could—

 _Bam!_  Isaiah sidestepped and still managed to catch half a jab to the face. Fuck. Fuck. Looking at the boy's stance now, it was plain he was a boxer. Isaiah had bit his lip on the inside at the blow, and he could taste blood now. It took everything he had just to keep up, just to dodge and dance and maybe throw a few punches. Drake was quicker than Isaiah and clearly more experienced, liked a jab and a hook together, a combination that nearly had Isaiah three times. There was something obvious about this, if only Isaiah clear his head and think of it. If only—

On instinct, he half-turned and stomped hard with his heel on the boy's instep. That shiny patent leather did nothing to protect the foot underneath. Isaiah caught a jab to the ribs, but it didn't have half the power of that first opening jab. He bounced back a couple steps and began circling up again. Grinning now. A boxer? Good! Boxers didn't know how to fight dirty. They had coaches. They had rules. They were used to gloves protecting their knuckles. If Isaiah came home with his knuckles scraped and bruised, it had been just another day at the fucking office. And he'd learned his lessons long before he'd ever stepped into the ring.

This time, when Drake came at him again with that combination, Isaiah dodged the jab, stepped in to block the hook, and kneed him in the groin. Hard. Drake staggered back, and Isaiah snatched up a bottle from the countertop, and smashed it against his head, shattering the bottle and drenching them both. 

_"Welcome to Birmingham."_

He reached for Drake to finish the job, but silent and quick as a snake, the Giant shot forward and dealt him a blow to the head. It sent him crashing to the ground.

His ears rang. Dimly, he was aware of people talking, of Standard and the Giant helping Drake to his feet. And then he was watching the Giant walk towards him and wind up to kick like Isaiah's head was a football. It seemed to be in such slow motion, and yet he barely had the time to say, "Shit."

A gun went off. The kick never came. Isaiah tried to drag himself under the nearest table, expecting more shots, but there was only screaming after that, then silence. 

Eventually, he found himself sitting, back to the wall, with Ajax trying to get him to drink some water. Everything swam back into focus. The pub was empty, save for Trevor hovering anxiously over Ajax's shoulder. "What happened?"

"Navika scared them away with the gun. And you have a concussion. Look, can you walk? The police may come."

"The police are fine." Arthur would take care of it.

"Isaiah?"

"Mmhmm?" 

"You know Judge Gabriel? Former City Council leader? Son of Lord Gabriel, the big fuckoff-rich nobleman? Running to be Lord Mayor?"

"That's not him. He's at least thirty-five."

"The boy you just kicked in the balls was his little brother."

_Oh fuck._

Isaiah wobbled to his feet, with Ajax and Trevor standing close like two clingy nurses. "Look, I'll be fine," he said. (Truthfully, it was all he could do to keep that afternoon's ham sandwich from coming right back up his throat.) "I doubt the Gabriel family wants it in the papers that they're threatening pub owners to buy up their properties. I'll just head home."

"If you can walk," said Trevor. Isaiah grinned. Trevor ripping him? That, more than anything, made the world seem quite normal.

"It'll be fine," he repeated. "Tell your mother I'm sorry about the mess. I will come help clean it up tomorrow morning if Tommy doesn't have any business for me."

 

The next morning, Isaiah found that Tommy did have business; namely, chewing him out.

"Do you have any idea how long it has taken for this bastard to even agree to a fucking meeting? I am running for Parliament here, Isaiah. You cannot challenge his brother to a fight over a fucking  _girl!_ "

"It wasn't over a girl!"

"Over anything!"

"You should be _supporting_ this!" 

At that point, Isaiah saw Tommy's rage transcend to the next level, where he spoke very deliberately and very levelly, and gave off the impression that he was preparing to kill and eat Isaiah with his bare hands. "And why would I do that?"

"Because—" Isaiah spluttered. "It's just like the way the Peaky Blinders started. It's this fucker coming in and thinking he can take whatever he wants, whenever he wants, because he's rich and he's English and he wants to! Because his ancestor built some stupid castle far too long ago. He doesn't deserve what he has and he's trying to take even more. We should kick his arse!"

From his expression, Tommy was not taking well to this display of outraged fervor. He steepled his hands. "Isaiah, what are we?"

"Gangsters with pragmatic hats?"

"We are a _family company_. Now, the owner of this pub, are they my family?"

"No."

"This pub, is it owned by my company?"

"No."

"Then there's no reason for it to interfere with my business. Leave the Gabriel boy alone." Tommy put on his glasses and returned his attention to the paperwork before him. Isaiah was clearly dismissed. Slowly, he got up and went for the door. But with his hand on the doorknob, he realized that if he left then, he'd regret it. He turned around.

"Tommy," he said slowly, "This is all we have. We don't have a business, like you or the Italians or the Jews. We don't have shops, like the Chinese. We don't even have a church anymore, that's why Dad used to preach on the streets. We just have this one place, where you can get a beer and a meal without having to fight five men. If it was about me, I wouldn't mind! I like fighting five men. But the others...Westley, he lost his arm in the war. You know that. He's getting old, no woman will have him, and he's stuck here for fucking ever. He just needs a place to get a fucking cup of soup where he won't be alone."

Much to Isaiah's surprise, Tommy let him speak without interruption. For a moment, he had a bit of hope. But the minute Tommy opened his mouth and spoke, Isaiah lost it again.

"Isaiah, I'm sorry about your father. I truly am. But there is nothing I can do for him right now, not until I get elected."

"This isn't about him." 

"I know I promised you that I would get him out. I will. Once the election is over, we will start negotiations with the Cortesi family in London, and we will sort it out."

"This isn't about him."

"Look, if something's happened to him, if there's something wrong with the prison, I can talk—"

_"This isn't—"_

Tommy's eyes were intolerable, for under the steel they held some sympathy. 

Isaiah looked away. "You're right. I'm not family. And this isn't your business. Never mind." He left, and shut the door quietly behind him.

Finn was sitting outside, flicking through the newspaper. He took once glance up, then shot to his feet. "What happened?"

Isaiah shook his head. There was something wrong with his throat, and he couldn't speak.

"Come on." Finn led him to one of the spare rooms and shut the door behind them. 

Isaiah couldn't stop walking. He paced up and down, the length of the room, until at last he cleared the contents of a bookshelf with one smashing sweep of his arm, in a great destructive bang, and flopped down onto the bed. 

After a second, Finn sat down next to him, and Isaiah began to tell him what had happened. After their many years together, Finn had learned how to listen for the words Isaiah did not say. He could see glimpses of the real story underneath, like flashes of silverfish under the surface of water: the empty flat the greeted Isaiah when he got home that night. The way he stayed out later and later to avoid that hollow silence. The rage that filled him sometimes, unexpectedly, at any provocation he could not answer with a fist. It terrified him, sometimes. Everything was different now that Jeremiah was gone and he could say none of it.

When Isaiah was finished, Finn let the air breathe for a second, then said, "So how do we do both?"

"What?" 

"You have a two-part problem. How do we both save the Tiger and screw Drake?"

Isaiah looked at him. "Tommy said to leave him alone."

Finn looked back. "So we won't tell him."

Isaiah considered this for a moment. Then he smiled.

Drake didn't stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what did you think? all constructive criticism welcomed!


End file.
